


Prince's Jewel

by Enide_Dear



Series: Prince's Jewel [1]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M, Stubborn Dwarves, and stiff necked elves, but the plot bunny bit hard, i haven't written for this fandom for a decade, prepare for teasing banter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-13
Updated: 2018-03-24
Packaged: 2019-03-30 23:56:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13962843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enide_Dear/pseuds/Enide_Dear
Summary: Legolas and Gimli travel to Erebor to ask for permission to wed, but old grudges and feuds will make it difficult for them.





	1. Chapter 1

“It’s beautiful here.” Legolas smiled and Gimli snorted. The elf was staring out over the mountain pass with its crags and lichen and boulders. The Lonely Mountain lay ahead, enormous pillars and breathtaking architecture but of course the elf was looking the other way, out over the fierce wilderness surrounding the reclaimed mountain.

“Bit let opulent than you are used to, hm?” He teased as he followed Legolas eyes to were a lark was flying high in the sky greyblue sky.

“Oh, I don’t know.” He got an equally teasing smile back and his heart lurched. “I have come to appreciate rugged beauty.”

Gimli felt himself blush a little – damn the elf and his way with words! Yet of course he wouldn’t have it any other way. His love for the elf was enough to endure all his elven silliness. 

It was how he learned to love him, after all. And Alüe knew how, but the woodland prince loved him to, a love that had survived all their dark adventures together during the War of the Ring. He sighed a little. Who would have guessed the true challenge had come when all the fighting was done? Yet he could ask for no braver soul to stand by his side through it all, and if it came to it he knew he would rather perish than be separated from Legolas again. 

“So we reach The Lonely Mountain tomorrow? We could get there tonight, if we keep up our pace.”

“Aye, but there’s no rush amrâlimê. Let’s just enjoy the evening.” He had already collected firewood meticulously so it would light at first attempt. That was a matter of pride.

“Not because you are nervous to meet your kin?” Legolas crouched down by his side, wise old-and-yet-young eyes meeting his. When Gimli just sighed, a long arm reached around him to hold him close.

“My father will not be happy, there’s nothing for that. There will be many harsh words – in khudzul.”

“Good thing I have yet to learn it, then. Else my ears might fall off from such harsh words.” Legolas laughed and Gimli felt a smile creep up on him as well. 

“That would be a shame, indeed. Where else would you hang those beautiful earrings I will make you?” That earned him a gentle cuff.

“I have told you before – I will not agree on such barbaric bejewel! Poking holes in the body to adorn it, whatever for? I have a perfectly functioning neck and fingers, wrists and ankles and waist around which to hang jewels.”

“I thought you liked barbaric – wait, waist?” A sudden image of slender elven waist encircled with delicate golden chains came into his mind and he was temporarily speechless.

“Indeed, I might even dance for you. If you are good.” The mumble in his ear turned into a short sharp bite but before Gimli could wrestle down his absolutely incorrigible lover and make him pay, a rhythmic sound alerted them. They untangled with speed and got to their feet with weapons ready, all sense of playfulness forgotten. This might be considered safe ground – close enough to both Dale and Lonely Mountains, but none of them would have lived to see even a hundred years if they were not careful. 

“Who goes there?!” Came a shout from the dark – unquestionably a dwarven voice although the words were Westron, probably due to the closeness to Dale. 

Legolas and Gimli lowered their weapons and exchanged a look.

“Seems you will be dealing with your kin sooner than you thought after all.” Legolas mumbled, and Gimli nodded. 

“It is I, Gimli son of Glóin, named Lockbearer and Lord of the Glittering Caves. My companion is Legolas Thranduilion, Lord of Ithilien. We come to meet with my kin in the Lonely Mountain, for we have important news to deliver. News of the most happy sort,” he added with a quick glance at the elf who smiled back. 

In the gathering dusk, twenty dwarves stomped up to their little camp, all armed. A guard patrol, Gimli assumed, one to keep the peace in these rugged lands. He’d heard the dwarves and humans shared that duty, although they kept their patrols exclusive. He was partly pleased and partly nervous when he saw the patrols leader – none other than Dwalin, looking older but still as fit for battle as ever and he bowed shortly at his father’s friend. 

But Dwalin only had eyes for the elf, and those eyes were burning with murder. 

“Seize the spy! Catch him before he flees!” Roaring Dwalin sprang forward, axe springing to his hand and the rest of the patrol followed, closing in around Legolas. 

“Dwalin, what are you doing?!” Gimli took a step forward but was brutally pushed aside. 

The broadside of Dwalins’ axe slammed into Legolas’ knee, felling him to the ground with a short shout. Gimli saw it happen so slowly; he knew the elf could have avoided the hit or even parried it, but shock and confusion made Legolas react too slow. 

And then the other axes started raining down on the downed elf, broadsided hitting his sternum, his shoulders as he was wrestled downed. 

Gimli roared in panic and drew his own axe, but Dwalin saw him coming. With a short command, five dwarves broke out of the formation and headed for him.

“Don’t fight them, Gimli! They are your kin!” Legolas shouted even as Dwalin wrenched up his arms behind his back to tie them. He was bleeding; not seriously but the very sight made Gimli nauseous with wrath. But he couldn’t attack his own kin, too much stubborn dwarven upbringing held him in place as he was unarmed. 

“No talking! You wont put a spell on us!” Dwalin grunted and his head came down hard on Legolas forehead. On a dwarf the hit might have made him dizzy but elven heads were not so sturdy; Legolas passed out in a boneless heap on the rocky ground. 

“No!” Breaking free, Gimli rushed forward to lift his head from the ground. Legolas breath came quickly and shallowly, but he was still alive. Ugly bruises were starting to bloom on his face and his lip was split. “What have you done?!” he cried, even as tears started falling. “I had given him my word on being treated with hospitality! Does that word mean nothing in Erebor anymore?!”

“Not to spies and elves, it doesn’t.” Dwalin answered gruffly. “You cannot see clearly. Spent too much time under his charms and magic, no doubt. But worry not, your father awaits you in the Lonely Mountain. All shall be well.” He gestured and some of the other dwarves slung together a makeshift stretcher to carry the elf. 

“But what about him?” Still too shocked by the sudden betrayal, Gimli clutched to the stretcher as they started the long dark road back to the Mountain. Dwalin looked down grimly.

“He will be charged with trespassing and spying at the feet of Dain Ironfoot.”

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Gloin waited in his chambers, arms open to embrace his son, but Gimli was having none of it. Finally free from the guards that had ‘escorted’ him he stomped over to his father and slapped his arms away. 

“Where is he?!” he all but roared in his father’s face. “I need to see him now!”

Glóin sighed and lowered his arms. He looked sad, but there was anger in his eyes to. 

“So it is true, what the rumors say. You have fallen under the spell of elves.” He shook his head. “To see this happen to my own child…”

“Don’t.” Gimli crossed his arms and glared. “Don’t try for me to pity you, father. You are not the one laying bleeding and bound in a dungeon!”

“Not this time, perhaps! But I have been there, and this is nothing but fair since the elves treated us the same!”

“You were neither bound nor bleeding! Has he even received medical aid? Water? Food?” The last glint he’d caught of Legolas had been when Dwalin and the others hurried him away, still unconscious and the image was burned into his brain making him near desperate with frustration. 

“Of course he has! What do you take your own kin for – orchs?!” Glóin snapped back. “Has he twisted your view on your own people so badly?”

“My view of my people was uncompromised until they attacked an innocent traveler bearing a message.”

“Innocent? Bah!” Gloin fell into a chair. “Elves are never innocent. And what message?”

Gimli was quiet for a while. 

“That is for Legolas to say – should he still choose to do so.” He added quietly. “I cannot blame him if he does not. Now, let me see him.”

“It is not in my power.” Glóin raised a hand to stall the protest. “King Daín himself had declared that the elf is to be taken to him in the court room tomorrow, where he will be trialed for trespassing and spying. If he is deemed guilty he will stay here to serve his sentence as a prisoner, or until his father pays ransom.”

“And I am to believe you and Dwalin and the others had nothing to do with this decition? Nothing at all?” The survivors from Thorin Oakenshields company was an important political factor these days and they most certainly had the King’s ear.

Glóin glared at him.

“Meanwhile you will stay here, in Erebor, until your sick infatuation with elves are gone and you are ready to open your eyes to the truth again. If you are still dwarf enough to behave you will be allowed in the court room tomorrow, but I am warning you.” Glóin sighed. “If you cannot keep your tongue you will be thrown out of there.”

 

Gimli spent the night wandering his old rooms, his doors heavily guarded with no way out. He had raged first, screamed and shouted and destroyed a few furniture, but to no avail so now he was just walking from room to room and wishing for this night to be over. This was all preposterous – under the spell of elves, such nonsense! Of course he was. He was utterly besotted in Legolas but that didn’t make him any less of a dwarf. He wasn’t about to betray Erebor to the elves, or reject his kin. And the allegations that Legolas had somehow convinced him to bring him here so the elf could spy was beyond ridiculous. Spy on what, for starters? It wasn’t as if the wood elves were about to launch an attack on the Lonely Mountain nor as if they would have a shadow of a chance to succeed if they did. Steal? Gimli hadn’t met anyone – no dwarf, elf, man or hobbit – less interested in gold and jewels than the woodland prince. He was far more likely to raid a flower meadow for seed pods, had there been any interesting plants in Erebor. 

But he knew he would never be able to convince his father or the others in the Company about it. Their only interactions with elves had been with Thranduil, whom Gimli was the first to admit was not very likable. They had not seen the ancient beauty and wisdom of Lothlorien, or the light of Imladris. Gimli had, and he knew he was changed for it. But changed for the better. And hadn’t Legolas followed him to the Glittering Caves and Khazad-dôm and been changed to? Indeed changed for the better as well. 

Gimli sighed and looked again at the seemingly unmoving moon. This night was proving longer than the one at Helm’s Deep. At least he’d had his amrâlimê at his side then. 

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

The court room was full to the last seat when morning finally came but Glóin and the others in the Company had reserved placed up front and with Oín and Bifur visiting the Iron Hills, there were room for Gimli as well. The others greeted him politely but there was a mixture of suspicion and pity in their eyes when they looked on him that made him almost forget his promise to behave and strike out at them. Instead he sat down stiffly next to his father and tried his best to ignore them. 

Dáin entered and all stood to bow, and when the King was seated they too sat down. With two short bangs on the floor with the ceremonial staff, the prisoner was escorted in and Gimli’s heart lurched. 

Legolas hands were tied behind his back and a short hood covered his eyes and head making it impossible for him to see. He walked straighbacked and gracefully but there was an almost undetectable limp in his left leg and although what could be seen of his face was washed and the bruises tended with ointment, his lip was still split. 

“Why the hood? Was that necessary?!” He hissed at his father. 

“Elves can put a spell on you just by looking at you. You know this. Now be quiet!” Glóin hissed back and Gimli had to bite his lip. Yes, once he’d also believed that elves could make you fall in love with them with a single glance, but he knew better now. He’d been presented to more elves than anyone else in all of Erebor, and Alüe knew he’d only fallen in love with one of them. 

Perhaps Dáin to had met Thranduil often enough to know this, for he gestured and the guards shoved the hood back, none to gently. 

Gimli came to his feet, seething with anger. 

Legolas face was covered in bruises, but they had been cared for. Where the skin was split, it was stitched of bandaged. But his hair….his hair was muzzled, a mess and Gimli alone knew the utter humiliation of that to any elf. To be seen with unkempt hair was considered extremely private and although the other dwarves didn’t know this they might as well have put him in judgement without any clothes on. In fact, Legolas would probably rather be out there in front of hundreds of hostile eyes naked with braided hair than as he was. 

“Sit down! I will not tell you again!” Glóin hissed angry and Gimli forced his knees to bend and his hands to be still. 

The elf was made to kneel on the hard court room floor and the guards withdrew. Ancient tradition required the floor before the King to be empty of all but the accused. Legolas kept his eyes fixed on the King, but Gimli could see his ears twitching as he listened for a voice he knew. His heart ached to at least be able to talk to him, to let him know he was not alone, but if he did he would be thrown out. And then he’d have even lesser chance of helping. 

“Legolas Thranduilion, you are accused of illegally entering the Erebor Kingdom, with malignant purpose. Both spying out military resources and theft has been suggested as your reason for coming here. Apart from that you are also accused of enchanting a young dwarf away from his people and family. What do you say to these accusations?”

Much as he loved the elf, Gimli knew he was not a great speaker. He was a prince, but a prince of an off-beat wood land kingdom, and he was no Elrond or Galadriel. He couldn’t hope to sway them with words alone. And he was proud, proud enough to lash out if he felt wronged or threatened. Gimli loved him for all those things, but right now it made him almost nauseous with fear. In his mind he could see it all happen; Legolas would say something haughty and hurtful too sooth his own stung pride at the treatment (and Gimli couldn’t find it in himself to fault him if he did), the dwarves would take it as being right about elves being faithless and condescending and then the prince would be cast in jail until his father payed ransom for him to be let out. And by then whatever grace of the Valar had made the elf love such a creature as himself would be lost forever. Legolas would go back to Mirkwood or Ithilien to live his eternal life with his own kin. Gimli would never see him again. His heart seemed to shrink down to nothing at the mere thought. 

“Dain Ironfoot, King under the Mountain.” Legolas voice was low and melodic and if he was struggling to keep his temper in check, probably only Gimli knew him enough to hear it. “There has been a misunderstanding. I have come to deliver a message, that is all.”

“So you admit to trespassing? Your father wouldn’t even let us pass though his lands, why should we let you walk up to our doors and knock on them?!” Came the gruff question from Glóin and Gimli felt like punching his father. Why was he being so unreasonably stubborn?

“It would be difficult to present my message otherwise,” Legolas snapped back. “Do you suggest I tie it to an arrow and shoot it at your gates from the borders of Dale? Somehow I think that would not be received well!”

Gimli thought he could almost see a quick smile on Dain’s face before the King quickly smothered it. But the Company did not respond as well to wit. 

“Didn’t that wood elf sprite you call your father say that dwarves only understood one thing – the sword?!” Dwalin suddenly roared to the muttered angry agreement. “If that is the message you have come to deliver, then do so now!”

“My father is taller than me and has far better eyebrows – I would think even a dwarf could tell the difference!” It was obvious that Legolas patience was running out and with all the needling, Gimli couldn’t say he blamed him. But Legolas was right, Gimli suddenly realized. This whole spectacle wasn’t even about him and Gimli. This was about old grudges, about what had happened 60 years ago in Mirkwood and getting revenge for being imprisoned there. Legolas was being the scapegoat for his fathers’ sins.

“It’s not fair,” he muttered, loud enough that his father threw him and angry glance, but Gimli was beyond caring. He came to his feet, the chair fell over with a slam that made the whole room jump. “He is not his father!”

“Sit down, or I will have you thrown out!” Glóin hissed, pulling his arm but Gimli shook it off. 

“And I’m not my father either!”

The whole room gasped as he jumped down on the floor, hurrying towards Legolas. The elf turned towards him, still proudly straight but there was utter relief in his eyes when he saw his melleth and he smiled. A thin line of blood ran down his chin from his split lip. 

Gimli quickly slashed through his bonds and Legolas’ hand immediately went to his hair, the way a mortal man’s might go to cover an exposed groin. He came to his feet, outwardly as graceful as ever but Gimli could see the slight sway in his motions. He must have been tied up all night, and Gimli’s blood boiled at the thought. He reached out to carefully wipe he blood from the elf’s chin. 

Hair finally smoothed down decently, Legolas shook his head at the outraged roar of the dwarves. But he addressed Dain Ironfoot on the throne.

“You were right, great King. I have come to steal away a jewel from you.” A sudden hush fell over the room when the prince spoke. But with Gimli at his side, the elf had calmed down enough to be courteous. “One greater than the Arkenstone – nay, greater than the Silmarills themselves.”

“I knew it!” Dwalin roared, shaking his axe. “You can never trust an elf!” But Dain’s harsh gesture shut him up. There was a strange glint in the King’s eyes.

“You do not deserve him!” Legolas snapped back. His hand was on Gimli’s shoulder, leaning heavily just to stay upright. “You do not see his beauty! You try to dim his light!” The hand squeezed harder. “You will not succeed.”

The silence in the room was now almost tangible. Gimli felt himself shake, as he’d never done before even at the Paths of the Dead. Ignoring the King, Legolas turned to Gloin who was just staring at his son and the elf, eyes huge and mouth open. With as much grace as he could muster into his aching body, he leaned into a dwarven bow at Glóin. 

“The message I have come to deliver is this: to ask for your sons’ hand in marriage.” A small hint of humor entered his voice. “I would bring a suitable gift, but a diamond seemed tacky considering the history between us.”

His last words wasn’t heard in the uproar, now loud enough to sound like a battle din. Only the ancient ban on entering the floor kept the dwarves from storming it.

Gimli kept his eyes on his father, and his heart fell. Glóin looked grey, his skin and his fire red hair suddenly lost their colour and he seemed to shrink in on himself for a minute. 

Then the family temper took over and he straightened up, eyes flaming as he held up his hand, and the room fell silent again.

“And what of your father, elf?” He spat. “Are you telling me he will marry off his only child to a dwarf?!”

Legolas cocked his head to one side and a spasm of pain went over it.

“I am an adult. The choice is mine, not my fathers.” He said softly. “We are already married by my peoples traditions.”

“And your King?” Dain pressed, not unfriendly.

“My King….exiled me.” The hand around Gimlis’ shoulder squeezed almost painfully hard, even for a dwarf to take. 

There was a glint of surprise in Glóins’ eyes.

“And you still did it? For a dwarf?”

“For Gimli.”

A strange almost embarrassed silence fell over the court room as the dwarves – never a people to much speak in public about finer emotions – tried to mentally shift gear. They had been prepared for a declaration of war, not love. Even Daín looked taken off guard and Glóin still looked shocked to his core. Daín was the first to recover. 

“Well, it would solve a lot of problems.” The King mused. “The woodland king’s son and my own nephew, once or twice removed. Might make for some diplomatic platform on which to move on with political negotiation. Would forge a –slightly – stronger bond with Mirkwood after all. Humans do that that sort of marrying between countries all the time.”

“This is not a marriage of convenience,” Legolas frowned. “And I am no longer prince of Mirkwood.”

“But you are still Lord of Ithilien, yes? And you still have the ear of the High King of Gondor, do you not?” Dáin said shrewdly. “Excellent! Then I have no political reasons to come between these two.”

“Father?” Gimli turned to Glóin who had sunk back down on the bench. He looked old, and worried. 

“Are you telling me you….love this creature?” He waved a hand at Legolas. Gimli bristled but kept himself in check. 

“Aye father, I do. He is my amrâlimê and there will be no other.” He put an arm around the elf’s waist and felt him melt slightly into the touch. “He has stood by my side before the very gates of Hell, and I would follow him beyond Heaven itself.”

“Then what choice do I have?!”Glóin suddenly spat. “Go off, marry that faithtless fairy, if you must! But mark my words, nothing good will come from this! And when he leaves you old and heartbroken and alone know this – there will be no family waiting for you in Erebor or anywhere else!”

Glóin stomped out of the court room, so fast it could almost be called fleeing but not before Gimli had seen the tears in his eyes. He sighed and felt himself shrink; suddenly it was Legolas grip on his shoulder and the arm hed slung around his waist that held him up, instead of the other way around. 

One by one the confused dwarves started to file out, but not before Daín had given the mismatched pair another wink. There was at least someone who looked forward to the wedding, or at least the political ramification of it. 

“Gimli?” Legolas voice was soft and low. “Can we – is there anywhere we could get outside and feel the wind and the sun again?”

Snapped back to the present, Gimli nodded. Despite his fathers words, he wasn’t certain if the elf had got food or water since he got to Erebor, and even worse of an elf, he’d spent the entire time locked inside underground. Now that the trial was over, he was swaying slightly on his feet. 

“Of course, amrâlimê. Come, I will take you.”

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

There was a small balcony in the sun where a few fragrant herbs grew in pots and Gimli brought him there. Just getting outside worked wonders on Legolas; his pale face got less drawn and he seemed to shake off his pains. But the hurt in his eyes were still there. Crouching down, he took Gimlis hands in his. 

“Meleth, how are you? Your father…”

“Said nothing to me that yours hadn’t already said to you.” Greif made him gruff, but of course Legolas understood. Long arms closed around him, pulled him close to where he could wet the elf’s tunic with the few tears he couldn’t hold back. 

“My pain doesn’t lessen your pain, meleth. I am so sorry for what happened today. Perhaps if I had been more eloquent….”

“This is not your fault, amrâlimê. It’s between my father and yours and we are just made to suffer because they cannot get to one another. They are being unfair, but there is nothing we can do about it. We cannot let them stop what we know to be right.”

Legolas was quiet for a while.

“It still hurts though,” he said finally. 

“Aye lad, that it does.”

For a little while they stood silent, before Legolas pulled himself together with a shaky smile. 

“So,” he said. “What does a dwarven wedding contain? Is it as pleasant as an elven one*?”

Gimli guffawed, also a little shaky.

“Much more sophisticated, my dear lewd amrâlimê! First there is the traditional forging of wedding clasps. You will forge clasps for my braids, and I will forge for yours. Gold will be best I think, although even I will be hard put to create something that will stay in your silky tresses.”

“I will….have to forge? Gimli, I have never…” But the elf’s worry was cut off as Gimli continued. 

“Then there will be a feast; since our families will not provide for us, we will have to do that ourselves. Or maybe we can get Dáin to do so. A couple of spitted, roasted whole bulls – ten at least, and one extra if we’re inviting the hobbits – and if we don’t finish at least a quarter of a bull ourselves it will seem in very poor taste and a bad sign for our marriage.”

“Gimli, I don’t think…”

“And beer, of course. Same there, the marrying couple will have to outdrink their guests.”

“That at least I might….”

“And then burp the alphabet. Back and forwards”

“You are not seriously saying….”

“Did I mention one of us will wear the traditional chainmail gown? We can use my mothers, it will fit you to about your knees.”

Legolas stared. Gimli looked back innocently.

“You are just making this up!”

“Well, maybe a little of it….”

“Horrible dwarf!” with something akin to a war cry, Legolas threw himself over his meleth and wrestled the laughing dwarf to the ground. “You had me fooled!”

They tumbled around in mock fighting for awhile, before drawing back, panting and smiling. Legolas’ hair was all tousled again, but this time he didn’t seem to mind. Gimli took a braid in his hand and tugged gently until the elf leaned into the kiss.

“Ah my dear elf,” Gimli chuckled. “You will still have to forge me wedding clasps, though.”

“Hmf. I will engrave mallorn leaves on them, just so you know.” Legolas leaned down and kissed him again and despite all the pain, Gimli smiled and kissed him back.

“I wouldn’t want it any other way, amrâlimê.”

The End


End file.
